Stitchwork
by Late Night Iridescence
Summary: Ficlet collection. Multiple pairings. #7 - Coco lays back in the cool, prickling grass, drowning in the voices carried by the wind, in turns starburst orange and a soft, blooming pink as Toriko and Komatsu speak. Coco/Komatsu/Toriko
1. Stitchwork

Title: Stitchwork  
>Pairing: ZebraKomatsu  
>Rating: PG<br>Summary: Komatsu takes a needle to Zebra's cheek.

"_Toriko isn't here this time. If you want my cheek closed up, do it yourself, kid."_

Komatsu wouldn't have pressed; that particular condition was only something he'd spouted in the heat of the moment, trying to one up Zebra in their competition of increasingly ridiculous conditions. He honestly didn't expect Zebra to have his cheek sewn shut _all _the time. At Hotel Gourmet, perhaps, or when they were out in crowded public places, even if it didn't make much of a difference to how easily Zebra was recognized. It was the attempt that counted or…something.

When they were alone, just the two of them or with Toriko and the handful of people who wouldn't pass out at the mere sight of him, Komatsu didn't care whether or not Zebra kept his ripped cheek closed.

Apparently Zebra had yet to realize that was true – yes, Komatsu had been staring, but at _Zebra_, not solely on the mutilated part his face, and he'd thought the man was napping anyhow – and now Komatsu had a lapful of Zebra's head as he threaded a needle through scarred skin with a great deal of care and patience.

His free hand cradled the base of Zebra's skull, holding the bishokuya's head still as he worked steadily inwards. At first Komatsu had been slow, clumsy with the fear of hurting Zebra or stitching the wrong way, but Zebra closed his eyes the second he laid down and hadn't opened them again, not even to accuse Komatsu of getting cocky for daring to poke him with a pointy object or some other unreasonable excuse. The longer that period of silence stretched, the more confident Komatsu became; he fell into a quick rhythm – wiping the occasional bead of blood away with his thumb - and now he was almost finished.

When he reached Zebra's mouth, Komatsu tied off and cut the thread with a small knife, sitting up to roll the stiffness from his shoulders. How much time had he spent doing this? Long enough that the stitches were near perfectly even. Komatsu traced a fingertip underneath the line, pleased the edges were so straight despite his shaky start. His work was neater than Toriko's had been.

"Zebra-san, I'm done," he said, frowning slightly when the man didn't move or acknowledge he'd spoken at all. "Zebra-san?"

Komatsu relaxed his grip on Zebra's neck, and his head lolled limply to the side, face now pressed against Komatsu's stomach. The shift in position caused a change in Zebra's breathing, because Komatsu could make out faint snores. While tiny, soft puffs of breath warmed the skin beneath his shirt, Komatsu took a moment to appreciate that Zebra was sleeping in his lap.

When Zebra showed up on his doorstep with a sack full of ingredients and a demand for his cooking, Komatsu certainly hadn't expected the evening to end like this. Zebra simply hadn't left after they ate – not that Komatsu would ever think of trying to kick him out – and they eventually found their way to his couch, the television playing quietly in the background as Komatsu desperately tried and failed to think of absolutely anything he could do to entertain a Heavenly King in his apartment besides cooking. Then Zebra decided to nap – _pretend_ nap, he knew now – arms crossed and head tilted forward, and Komatsu's eyes wandered from the screen to the man beside him, far more engaging than a documentary on wild beasts he'd seen in person. That was how all this began: Zebra glancing over to catch him starting.

Smiling gently, Komatsu smoothed loose strands of hair from Zebra's forehead, fingers seeking out his stitched cheek again. He wondered how it happened. There was so much he had to learn about not only Zebra and Toriko, but all the Kings; Zebra's cheek, the scars on Toriko's face, Sunny's quirky sense of beauty, and Coco being driven into self-exile…there was an incredible amount of history there, stories sure to be both painful and fantastic if he ever heard them. _When_ he heard them.

There was no better place to start than with the King in his lap. Komatsu yawned, sliding down the couch so his neck was supported more comfortably by the cushions. He'd ask…but first, a nap of his own.

* * *

><p>AN - Why add that info at the top? Because this is going to become a collection, the place I dump all future Toriko ficlets instead of posting a bajillion separate short fics, and I'm going to change the summary whenever I add a new one. It's easier this way.


	2. Flow

Title: Flow  
>Pairing: TorikoKomatsu  
>Rating: PG<br>Summary: Toriko and Komatsu take an unusual trip.

This is the sort of trip Komatsu can get behind.

Even the 'Don't scream so loud, Komatsu, we're riding that lizard' part isn't so terrible because Toriko has - shockingly enough - kept the pace easy. Their reptilian mount seems as disposed to be lazy as Komatsu feels, because of the weather or Toriko's subduing presence, that hardly matters.

It's a bright day, warm but not so hot Komatsu is sweating from his inactivity. The coolness of the water certainly helps, clear and rippling gently when Komatsu swirls his fingers through it in a slow figure eight. This is a shallower area of Crystalline Lake; he can see straight to the bottom, not that the phenomenon is unique to the shallows. What makes Crystalline special is the purity of the water, miraculously untouched by pollution - hence lizards instead of boats. Sunlight penetrates even the deepest parts of the lake. There isn't a single inch of Crystalline that can't been viewed with the naked eye.

Komatsu lies on his stomach, sprawled low on their lizard's back to reach the water. He's sluggish, lulled by the peace of this place, which is why he doesn't react as he normally would when he spots something larger than the average fish swimming towards them. A pink head nudges playfully at his hand, and Komatsu obliges the dolphin's request to be petted. There are likely vicious, man-eating species of dolphin somewhere in the world. Only Komatsu doubts _this_ one is interested in taking a bite out of him, and in any case Toriko is here.

Watching his partner's reflection as he rubs idly at smooth, springy flesh, Komatsu blinks in drowsy surprise to find Toriko looking back.

Toriko's regard is comfortable, familiar. Necessary, or he'd long be monster chow. Komatsu is just sleepy enough staring seems an excellent idea; Toriko meets his gaze and holds it, equally relaxed despite the reins tangled around his wrists.

Komatsu isn't entirely sure what they're hunting. Toriko had given no real details when he told Komatsu to call work because they were taking off.

He trusts Toriko and never bothered asking what's on the menu this time, but now that he's focused on nothing but the bishokuya, Komatsu is confused by the discrepancy in Toriko's posture. Relaxed, yes, but this isn't what he's used to. Toriko is forever some level of laid back, even when fighting - the exception is Toriko when he's truly angry, and that's, well - only now there's a tangible difference. It's almost as if some of his characteristic wildness has been tempered, diffused.

Not relaxed, then. A better word to describe it would be…calm.

Toriko is calm.

Which makes no sense, unless they're not here to hunt. Komatsu frowns because _that_ in itself makes no sense - if they aren't on a job, then what? - but his thoughts are too leaden to flow together properly.

His dolphin friend chirps and disappears into deeper water, so Komatsu tucks a wet hand beneath his cheek, eyes drifting shut. _Nap time_, his mind demands. He's in no position to refuse. Toriko continues to watch, and Komatsu sleeps undisturbed, content in the knowledge of his safety, temporary as it is.

Soon enough they'll be in the thick of things once more, but that's _later_.

* * *

><p>The sun has long set, the blazing fire they used to cook dinner now banked low, offering little heat but just enough light to get by. Komatsu can hear nothing but thrumming night insects and water bubbling quietly on the beach of the island they chose to make camp.<p>

It's this relative silence that finally convinces Komatsu to ask the question that has been rattling around the back of his mind for several hours. "Toriko-san, where's the howling? And snarling? And…well." All those other frightening noises he's grown accustomed to hearing during their trips. Footsteps in the darkness. The rough, ragged breathing of animals lurking just beyond their tight circle of light, wanting nothing more than to tear him limb from limb. Sounds that are suspiciously absent.

"There aren't many species of land animals in the area," Toriko says, gnawing on a leftover piece of cartilage. _Like a dog with a bone_, Komatsu thinks, and hides the accompanying smile with his palm. "And even among the aquatic species, viciousness is the exception instead of the rule. An ordinary hunter could catch pretty much everything."

"Then why are we here? There has to be reason." Nobody sends Toriko to hunt anything that isn't huge and carnivorous and likely to swallow a normal man whole. He doubts Toriko _accepts_ requests for less.

And…Toriko is looking at Komatsu as if he's lost his mind. The cartilage finally cracks between his teeth, and they watch each other across the fire while Toriko chews thoughtfully. Eventually, he says, "You haven't come here before."

Not a question. "No," Komatsu answers anyway.

"Isn't that reason enough?" Toriko shrugs dismissively when Komatsu makes a tiny sound of astonishment. "We're not on a job, Komatsu. I just thought you'd appreciate a something more your speed."

Firelight plays across the strong lines of Toriko's face, and Komatsu can't think of what to say, can't look at him anymore. He ducks his head, feeling foolish; while he can't be entirely blamed for not realizing they were here for play instead of work, considering some - _all_ - of the places they've gone before, it's failing to read Toriko's intentions correctly that bothers Komatsu most.

He remembers earlier that day, his brain addled with half-sleep but still aware of Toriko's odd calmness. It certainly makes sense now he knows Toriko meant this as something just for the two of them. _That_ was Toriko enjoying his partner.

And Komatsu, waiting and waiting and waiting for the other shoe to drop, ruined it completely.

He's spent too long figuring this out, and the moment has passed and it feels too late to say anything, to apologize. Toriko has his eyes turned to the star-strewn sky. It's only now, when Toriko is looking elsewhere, that Komatsu realizes he has been the bishokuya's sole focus.

Shoulders slumped, angry at himself, Komatsu unrolls his sleeping bag. He's hiding, and it's a cowardly thing to do but he's never been and never will be as brave as Toriko.

An indiscernible amount of time later, when the fire has burned itself out, Toriko lays on his back beside him - a habit born from all those dangerous nights, Toriko a shield between Komatsu and all the things wanting to eat him while he sleeps - even though he explained the risk is minimal.

With Toriko so warm and _right there_, Komatsu finds he can't stay quiet a second longer. It isn't enough but, arm flung across his face, Komatsu says, "I'm sorry, Toriko-san."

"For what?" Toriko sighs, and silences Komatsu with a finger before he has the chance to answer. "You shouldn't be so used to life-threatening situations you assume we're walking into one despite all evidence to the contrary. For that, _I'm_ sorry. Remind me to take you somewhere quiet more often. You're my partner. That means exploring more than just the dangerous places - doesn't matter where, as long as it's together. Right?"

Komatsu lifts the arm from his wide eyes, peeking out shyly to see Toriko propped up on his elbow, lips quirked fondly. Blushing, but not turning away from Toriko's affection, Komatsu smiles back hesitantly and says, "Thank you."

Toriko rumbles a laugh and grabs at Komatsu's waist, reeling him in until they're back to chest. It's too humid to be lying close, except Toriko noses at his hair, breathing uneven - he can't be doing anything but dragging in deep lungfuls of Komatsu's scent - and though it's weird be sniffed so intently, Komatsu wouldn't move for GOD itself.

* * *

><p>AN - Cannot name anything creatively, that's me.

lol freshwater dolphins

Ugh, sorry this is not as quality as Stitchwork.


	3. Scruffy

Title: Scruffy  
>Pairing: TorikoKomatsu  
>Rating: PG-13<br>Summary: Toriko really needs to shave.

Toriko yawned, stretching out in the sun as Komatsu packed away the last of the tools and ingredients he'd used to make lunch, eying his partner askance when the bishokuya itched at his chin. "You should shave, Toriko-san."

"Soon," Toriko said, arms arching over his head as he yawned again, but swinging down to catch Komatsu around the waist and send him sprawling across his thighs in the next moment. Komatsu sighed and used Toriko's shoulders to lever himself up, knowing the spilled contents of his backpack wouldn't get picked up until Toriko decided to let him go. "Don't you like it?" Grinning, Toriko brought Komatsu's hand to his face, rubbing it across his cheek and the short, pricklish hairs growing there.

Stubble wasn't usually his thing - Komatsu himself preferred to be clean shaven at all times - but he had to admit it suited Toriko, further physical proof of someone who spent most of his time in the heart of nature. Accompanied by his wild mane of blue hair, the effect was rather striking, and definitely charming. "As long as you don't plan on growing a beard," Komatsu said, scratching blunt nails through the scruff fondly.

"Nah, I'd get too much food stuck in it." Komatsu laughed, shaking his head because that was _such _Toriko logic. God forbid anything got in the way of eating.

Toriko wound his fingers in Komatsu's hair - hanging damp and heavy in his eyes, curling, clinging with sweat at the back of his ears - to work it into even more of a tangled mess. The bishokuya wasn't the only one looking scruffy these days. "I really need a haircut. Toriko-san…"

"No way, I won't do it." Toriko said, bringing Komatsu closer to drop a kiss on his forehead. "You look cute like this."

Komatsu huffed in protest, tugging on Toriko's own lengthy hair, now long enough to rest against his bare collarbones. "I am _not_ cute."

"There isn't a single person who'd agree with you, Komatsu." With a rough chuckle, Toriko tipped Komatsu's head back and, sparing a moment for a wolfish grin that made Komatsu far too nervous, dragged his stubble over the tender skin of Komatsu's throat.

Komatsu yelped, squirming at the ticklish scrape, unable to decide if he wanted to escape or just let Toriko do as he wished. In the end Toriko's tongue soothing across the stinging red lines convinced him to stay put, noting, wryly, that his partner's habit of marking him was showing full force, as it tended to when they were alone together in the middle of nowhere.

An indulgent kiss distracted him; Komatsu thought nothing of Toriko playfully rucking up his shirt until he suddenly found himself face first on the ground, chest exposed and Toriko's stubble burning along his spine. Sucking in a startled breath, Komatsu dug his fingers into the grass and held on.

Tonight. He smiled grimly, shuddering as sharp teeth worried at the small of his back. Charming or not, tonight he'd _make_ Toriko shave, even if he had to take a knife and do it himself.

* * *

><p>AN - This was meant to be Komatsu feeling up Toriko's stubble and ended up Toriko using his stubble to feel up Komatsu. I can't even…

Japanese fandom has been drawing gloriously scruffy Toriko for the last few days (that I think, I _think_, might be from the recent Saikyou Jump one-shot) and he proved hard to resist. Thus, this came into existence. But seriously, you should take a look at the fanart. Way too attractive.


	4. Alone These Days

Title: alone these days  
>Pairing: TorikoKomatsu  
>Rating: PG<br>Summary: They've taken off without telling a single soul where they're going or when they'll be back.

The strawberries are an excuse, really; what they're after this time is peace and quiet, though they like having a goal ingredient for no other reason than finding something delicious to fill Toriko's stomach with at the end of the day. It was an offhand comment by Toriko – which came as a surprise – that sent them off on this little trip. Just Toriko frowning in concentration as he lit a branch, saying, _"Seems like no one will leave us alone these days."_

And so they've taken off without telling a single soul where they're going or when they'll be back.

No Kings. None of the bishokuya or yakuza or knights or reporters they keep accidentally making friends with, none of the attention they usually draw as Heavenly King Toriko and Chef Komatsu, recreator of the Century Soup. There are only partners here. Toriko and Komatsu. Terry and Yun, Komatsu's penguin.

The animals in question are curled up in the basket slung across Toriko's back, Terry leaving just enough room for Komatsu and Yun and the strawberries, which are huge, the smallest easily the size of Komatsu's hand, and a deep, vibrant red.

The basket sways gently with each step Toriko takes, lulling Komatsu into a dreamy state of relaxation. Eyes closed, he sips at a bottle of Mellow Cola and leans into soft, warm fur that tickles his forehead. It's been a long time since they've gone after an ingredient simply because _they_ wanted to, with nobody influencing their decision and no pressing time constraints or training to complete. Not since the Puffer Whale, and even then Coco had come with them, though Komatsu would never have been able to remove the poison sack without his precise directions – he wonders if he's capable of it on his own now, makes a mental note to try if given the chance – and that was before their visit to Vegetable Sky and the shift in their relationship to something a little more personal.

Komatsu only opens his eyes when Terry suddenly licks his cheek, rough tongue rasping over his skin and leaving behind a trail of saliva that cools in the few seconds it takes Komatsu to wipe the wet away. It's getting chilly despite the sun still hanging high in the sky, but not uncomfortably so. Surrounded by wolf and penguin and fruit, Komatsu is just warm enough.

He scratches Terry's ears for a while. Yun climbs into Komatsu's lap to ask for a little of his attention as well, so he hugs the penguin to his chest. Eventually he scritches under Terry's chin instead, which she seems to enjoy, barking quietly, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth. She looks so much like Toriko waiting impatiently for a meal Komatsu can't help but laugh. The bishokuya glances over his shoulder, eyebrow raised in curiosity and lips quirked upwards. Komatsu can't resist leaning over to pluck the long piece of grass Toriko has been chewing on for the last hour from his mouth.

"Oi!" Toriko protests, but Komatsu replaces the grass with something better just as quickly, playfully dangling one of the strawberries in front of his nose. Toriko parts his lips so Komatsu can feed him, hands otherwise occupied with steadying the basket. He hums in appreciation as he chews and swallows, and - as seems to be today's theme – sticks out his tongue to taste the juice dripping down Komatsu's fingers. The chef doesn't say anything, keeping quiet even when, after the last bite disappears, Toriko sucks three of those sticky fingers into his mouth and holds them there.

Komatsu _had_ been planning to make dessert with the fruit. At this rate, he's not sure Toriko will let him; the whole trip back will likely be spent feeding the bishokuya by hand. Still, there are worse ways to pass a lazy afternoon.

"I'm glad we came," Komatsu murmurs.

Hint of sharp incisors digging into his finger, looking to leave a mark. Then Toriko lets him go long enough to say, "Yeah, me too."

* * *

><p>AN - Written for a Tumblr friend's birthday, based off fanart she drew. If you're interested, look up Komatsuu on DevArt.


	5. Victory

Title: Victory  
>Pairing: KingsKomatsu  
>Rating: G<br>Summary: Komatsu returns to his partners after the preliminaries end.

Komatsu is shaking with exhaustion by the time he makes it back to them, worn out but not unhappy - no, their chef is smiling up at them, warm and hopeful, like maybe he doesn't _know_ how proud he's making them, has already made them.

Zebra steps forward, sweeping Komatsu into his arms before anyone else can protest. Sunny looks like he might try, wanting to hold Komatsu himself, but the chef sighs and closes his eyes and snuggles against Zebra's chest, content, and he falls silent, choosing to drink in the sight of Komatsu's relaxed expression instead.

Toriko sees Buranchi first, lingering some distance away and watching them with an unreadable expression. Sunny tenses and moves closer to Zebra, prepared to shield Komatsu with his body, but Coco doesn't stop petting Komatsu's hair long enough to look.

The man smirks, eyes on Komatsu, and says, "You've got an interestin' chef, ya know?"

A moment later, he's gone.

* * *

><p>AN - Drabble for the new chapter, which sort knocked me on my ass with Komatsu feels.


	6. Soft White Silence

Title: Soft White Silence  
>Pairing: CocoSunny  
>Rating: PG<br>Summary: Coco is being awkward, and Sunny wants to know why.

Tumblr request.

* * *

><p>Late afternoon light dripped through the kitchen curtains, painting the room soft poison red, a color Sunny hasn't seen since Coco's return. He hasn't seen much of <em>anything<em> Coco for nearly a week, and it's grating on his nerves, leaving him unsettled in a way he simply shouldn't be when surrounded by so much of him.

Sunny warms his hands around the sweet ginger tea, inhales the steam and feels something unwind, just a little, in the pit of his stomach. No one makes this particular tea, his favorite, the way Coco does, not even Komatsu, though that's hardly a slight on the chef's skills; even the Chef God couldn't put the same feeling into this, and Sunny is glad at least one part of Coco isn't strangely off-kilter, which is more than can be said for the rest.

He realizes he's playing with one of the spice jars on the table, sliding it across the wood, and stops, scowling. It's a sign of how frustrated he is, unconsciously rearranging objects with his hair. There are only a few places Sunny finds himself at ease enough not to: Toriko's house, Komatsu's apartment, his restaurant, anywhere he relates to the little chef, and here. Being out of the spotlight feels good every once in a while, and since the rift between them had begun to mend, he actually _prefers_ to be here with Coco, seeks out his company and never feels unwelcome. He can relax here.

Except Coco has been acting strangely since his fight with Grinpatch, and only most of it is Komatsu's kidnapping - he can't think about it, because every time he does he sees Toriko's grief, strong shoulders sagging under an invisible weight, their chef's absence like losing a limb, and the rage that surges up to strangle him is almost too much to bear - because there's something else as well, something too small in comparison to really matter that's bothering Coco anyway. It's been bad enough that Zebra pulled Sunny aside when he left, told him to 'fix that idiot already' with a growl in his throat.

But Sunny isn't...good at things like this, and Coco's been avoiding him, won't look him in the eye, won't smile at him the way he has been, recently, small and soft and genuine. Komatsu should be here, he's the one who knows how to put them together again...

The cup in his hands creaks. Sunny only just manages to set it down before it shatters beneath his clenching fingers.

Coco appears in the doorway at the clatter of porcelain, concern on his face, and for a split second it's like they're back to normal before his gaze drops to the floor. "Are you all right?"

Sunny nods, heart in his throat, and hesitates for a moment before shoving his chair back and stalks towards Coco. Komatsu is better at this than him, but he's not here, and _someone_ needs to hold together in his absence. It might as well be him.

His hair flares out, wrapping around Coco's hips to keep him in place - but not so tight Coco can't get away if he wants too, because he will never, ever trap his family against their will - and he goes completely still, watching Sunny approach nervously but not moving away. Sunny sighs, silently, in relief.

"What is it?" Coco still won't look at him. "Sunny?"

Sunny puts his fingertips against Coco's jaw, pressing gently to turn Coco to face him. The poisonous bishokuya lets him, finally meets his eyes with a resigned twist to his lips.

"Are you going t' tell me what's wrong or not?" Sunny asks, wincing internally because it sounds like a demand, and Komatsu definitely wouldn't _demand_ anything. But Coco smiles, a tiny, quiet thing, and maybe it's okay that he's not Komatsu after all.

Then Coco blushes; Sunny can feel the heat rushing to his cheeks with his feelers, and he just stares, because he's never seen Coco blush before in his entire life. "It honestly isn't anything important. I don't even know why this is bothering me so much."

And Coco's hand goes to his hair before flinching away in embarrassment.

Sunny wants to hit something, maybe himself, or Coco, or both of them, because he knows he's partially to blame for this. His initial outburst hadn't exactly been the most encouraging, and Coco is so reserved you'd never notice he took slights like that to heart, sometimes, and Sunny needs to fix this immediately.

He's been fascinated with the white of Coco's hair, wondering just how much poison he'd used in order for it to happen so quickly, but with Coco avoiding him, Sunny hadn't had a chance to get a good _taste_ yet. So he takes the opportunity, slides some of his own white hair into the soft tousle of Coco's, drinking in the softness, ruffling it, loving that they match now, though part of him misses the old color, as dark and silky as Kiss' feathers.

"Idiot," Sunny says. "It's beau'iful."

Coco hesitates, then brings a hand to Sunny's cheek, hovering. When Sunny pushes into it, Coco smoothes his thumb over the thin skin below his eye, leans down to press a grateful kiss to his forehead; Sunny rocks onto his toes and meets him halfway, mouth to mouth, instead. Arms curl around Sunny's waist, and his hair, held in check, takes that as permission to wrap around as much of Coco as it can.

"I bet 'Matsu's gonna like it too," he says, and Coco laughs and holds him tighter.


	7. Honeyed Sunsets

It still bothers me that Coco hasn't made any partnership overtures to Komatsu, and I make myself sad when I think about why. So I wrote this.

It explores Coco's synesthesia a little, since it's something I pretty much never see in fics, ever, and it's such a shame. This isn't really an in depth look at that, but I need to reread the Gourmet Casino arc. Like, right now.

* * *

><p>Coco lays back in the cool, prickling grass, drowning in the voices carried by the wind, in turns starburst orange and a soft, blooming pink as Toriko and Komatsu speak. Even with his eyes closed, he can't escape the colors they paint across his senses, weaving together until the edges blur into something new. He's glad he learned to suppress his own poisonous color years ago, so it doesn't taint the pure, luminous gold that represents Toriko-and-Komatsu, destined and inseparable.<p>

Sometimes he wonders how things might have been, if Komatsu met him first. Perhaps Komatsu would have been his. Perhaps he'd have risked closing the distance he'd placed between himself and the rest of the world (for _their_ safety, and for his) and been rewarded with a partner of his own.

Perhaps Komatsu would be swept away by Toriko, loud, bright, _dazzling _Toriko, who was everything Coco wasn't, regardless.

Sometimes he wonders how things might have been. Most of the time, he tries not to.

The arm he presses against his eyes, leaving static buzzing across his vision, helps not at all. He considers rolling over, pushing his face to the ground to feel the colors of the grass and dirt and, far, far beneath, the molten core of the very planet, but the orange and pink and gold would eclipse it all.

A presence at his side. Coco slides the arm away and briefly thinks he's lost time, that the afternoon is gone and the sky is shading towards evening. But it's only them, only Komatsu and Toriko and their orange and pink and gold, and things would be so much easier if looking at them wasn't like looking at the sun.

He wants Komatsu. He wants Toriko. What he wants, truly, is a place within the perfect fit they've found in each other.

He doesn't deserve either of them.

Komatsu kneels at Coco's side. Above him, Toriko looms, shadow falling across them both, blue hair haloed by blue sky. His eyes are dark, feral and wild and tempered by the seeds of softness planted there by his partner.

Komatsu reaches out, presses hot, rough fingertips to Coco's cheek. Helpless, he turns into the touch, just a flutter, infinitesimal, but Komatsu cups his face with hands that have made miracles and smiles. His whole body lights up, and Coco's color slips out, unbidden, a blood red muddy with the traces of green he _used_ to be, long ago. But where it brushes the pink, it becomes something warm, sweeter, the red you find in sunsets, in flowers and ripening fruit.

Toriko shifts, flops down with this head pillowed on Coco's legs. He turns, nose tucked against his knee, and breathes deep. Orange and pink and red mix. The gold, rather than bleed away, turns deep and honeyed.

For a moment, Coco let's himself believe there may be a place for him after all.


End file.
